


Losing Control

by AlexTWDgf01



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Blood, Brotherly Love ❤️, Choking, Feral!Ford, Fighting, Gore, Gun Violence, Hugs, Human Trafficking (heavily mentioned), Hurt/Comfort, Knife Violence, Mexican Cartel, Post-Weirdmageddon, Sleepy Cuddles, Stangst, Violence, platonic, protective!Ford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26396281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexTWDgf01/pseuds/AlexTWDgf01
Summary: Cradling his head in one hand, he used the other to hold himself up in a sitting position on the floor. He gazed up at the three figures looming threateningly over him, guns still trained on him. The boss, still smiling, used his pinky finger to pick at he teeth nonchalantly as he spoke.“You are a tuff man to pin down, I’ll give you that. Though, fake ID’s ‘ll only get you so far, Mr. Andrew. Or should I say... Stanley Pines.”
Relationships: Stanley Pines and Stanford Pines
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	Losing Control

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this is the first fanfic I’ve done in a while. I would have been done a couple days ago if I hadn’t been busy, but alas.

For the past week, the Stan twins had been making preparations for their boat trip. Packing up clothes suitable for the cold weather, weapons for detaining and neutralizing anomalies that may pose a threat, Stan’s huge stashes of cash he keeps hidden all over the shack, and some of their nicknack belongings that held sentimental value to them.

This morning, Ford had gotten up early to go down to the basement to rig up a security system device for the Stan O War ll that could alert them when an anomaly or large sea life was nearby. Said it would be a good idea given that some of the creatures out there are dangerous.

Since he had all his personal belongings packed and ready, Stan decided to busy himself with picking up some food and supplies they would need from the store.

“Hey, Ford! I’m fixing to head out. Need anything while I’m gone?” Stan called into the basement.

“Nothing I can think of at the moment!” Ford hollered back, a metal clanking echoing up after along with a stream of unearthly curses.

Stan chuckled as he shut the vending machine door, still not used to hearing his twin swear. Ford used to be the clean mouth of the family when they were younger, but now he had a silver tongue that could compete with his twin’s. Funny how times change. 

Snagging his suit jacket from off the rack, Stan headed for the door. As he opened it, he went to step out onto the porch, only to realize there were three men blocking his path. They all wore suits, far more expensive than his own. Two wore grey suits, one a White man with glasses and the other a Spaniard with two missing fingers.

Now the other, the one he assumed that was their boss, was a Colombian man. He had on a black suit with a blood red tie. He wore some sort of leather shoes, a gold chain around his neck, and bulky rings made of silver on each finger. His hair was grey with a few streaks of brown, slicked back, he had a scar that came over his left eye, and he bore a wicked smile that reminded him of that Cheshire Cat from one of Mabel’s cartoons.

Stan felt like he knew this man. He couldn’t place who he was or where he’d met him, but felt it. The same way he felt his heart jump into his throat as fear of him being here made itself known. But not wanting them to see the slight shake in his hands, he schooled his features and tried to play it off.

“Sorry folks. The Mystery Shack is closed today.” Stan said, feeling nervous when their boss chuckled.

“We’re not here to buy your over priced roadside attraction rubbish.” the Colombian said smugly.

“Then, what exactly are you here for?” Stan questioned, feeling sweat starting to bead up on his neck in anticipation of the answer.

“Business.” is all he got as a reply before the two other men pulled out their guns and aimed them at Stan.

He tensed, hackles raising at the deadly weaponry. Age old instincts told him he needed to run, get away, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun their trigger fingers. He knew if he so much as took a step back, it would be all over with. So Stan stayed put, raising his hands slightly in a placating gesture.

“Whoa! Hey now, what’s the big idea?” Stan asked, quirking an eyebrow in question.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about me so quickly, old friends,.” the Columbian man said in a sarcastically playful manner.

“I’m not so sure friends greet each other with guns in their faces.” Stan deadpanned, face unimpressed.

“True, but friends don’t steal from one another either.” he said, motioning his men towards Stan.

They force Stan back into the shack, entering the kitchen. Once there, one of the cronies hits him in the back of the head with their gun, causing him to collapse on the ground. The force of the blow wasn’t enough to knock him out, but just enough to debilitate him for a while.

Cradling his head in one hand, he used the other to hold himself up in a sitting position on the floor. He gazed up at the three figures looming threateningly over him, guns still trained on him. The boss, still smiling, used his pinky finger to pick at he teeth nonchalantly as he spoke.

“You are a tuff man to pin down, I’ll give you that. Though, fake ID’s ‘ll only get you so far, Mr. Andrew. Or should I say... Stanley Pines.” he hissed with an evil, toothy smile.

Andrew...wait. He remembered using that identity in ‘81. He had discarded it later due to a job he’d gotten caught up in. He was supposed to be transporting drugs across the border until he’d heard voices. Women, children all pilled in the back. 

Stan ended up on the run from the Mexican cartel, from...

“Rico.” Stan gasped out, suddenly breathless as he realized what the fear pooling in his chest was.

“Ah, so you do remember, hermano.” Rico grinned. “Remember how you stole from me? How you stole my cargo?”

“People are NOT cargo! I didn’t sign up for sex trafficking women and kids!” Stan exclaimed angrily, sickened by the other party.

“You were to transport whatever we told to! You cost me money with that stunt you pulled, gringo.” Rico hissed, turning to the counter drawers and pulled out a kitchen knife from its contents. 

The Spaniard came up and forced Stan’s hands behind his back before he had a chance to react, keeping him in place. Rico, stepped over towards them, twiddling the knife in his hands as he glared menacingly down at the old con artist.

“And now you’re going to pay.”

///

Ford hummed to himself as he finished up the security device, screwing the metal panel back over the circuit board. He smiled at its completion, marveling at his handiwork. Now, all he had to do was hook it up to the boat and test it out in the waters.

To be honest, he’d never thought that this day would come. Stan and him making up, getting to do what they had dreamed about during their childhood and go sailing. It was a literal dream come true. Unfortunately, this had only finally happened out of a near tragedy. 

Only when Stan had given up his life and mind in a sacrifice for their family and the world, did he he see the error of his ways, how petty his resentment had been. He never thought he’d get the chance to make up for his mistakes to his brother again. 

Then, Stan’s memories slowly started returning. First of Waddles, then Soos, the kids, the town. And last, Ford. He’ll never forget the joy he felt when his brother had called him Sixer. All those years that Bill had tainted and perverted Stan’s affectionate nickname for him dissipated all at once. In that moment, all he wanted was to hear it over and over again for the rest of his life.

He sighed, feeling tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Ford took off his glasses, using the sleeve of his sweater to wipe them away before they could fall. He’d cried enough the past week of Stan’s amnesia, he thought he’d have done ran out tears by now. Just another thing he’d been wrong about.

Setting aside the security devise, he stood and went back to packing up the basement. He stored some of his old and unfinished projects into boxes, along with blueprints and notes of others. As he was doing so, he heard a thump from upstairs.

That was...strange. Stanley had just left a few minutes ago, hadn’t he? Then again, he hadn’t ever heard the door to the shack close. Maybe he was still upstairs and dropped something. Though, that was an awfully loud thud, almost like a body hitting the floor.

Curious, Ford stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor, ascending slowly. As the elevator grinded to a halt at its destination, he could hear his brother yelling. Stan sounded angry, though he couldn’t quite understand his words as they were muffled by the walls.

There was another voice. It was masculine and just as enraged sounding as Stan’s. It didn’t sound good either. Ford scaled the stairs as fast and quietly as he could, skipping each step that he knew would creak under his weight. Reaching the top, he slid open the vending machine and the conversation became more clear.

“-ou cost me money with that stunt you pulled, gringo.” it hissed out, voice dripping with venom.

Following said voice to the kitchen, Ford peered in quietly through the doorway. And his stomach dropped.

Two men stood in the middle of the room, one fiddling with a knife while the another had his gun trained on his brother, who was being restrained by another man. Stan stared at the one wielding the knife, expression seemingly stoic, unbothered to a stranger. But Ford knew his twin. He knew deep down, he was terrified.

“And now you’re going to pay.” the man with a knife said before stepping towards Stan, with clear ill intentions.

Fear and anger bubbled up within Ford’s chest at the man’s actions. With a growl, he stepped out from hiding and leveled his gun towards him.

“Drop your weapons.” Ford snapped, causing the other occupants to turn their gazes in his direction.

“Well, isn’t this interesting.” the Columbian with a knife turned his full body to eye Ford. “Didn’t realize gringo had a brother.”

“I said drop your weapons, NOW.” Ford demanded, voice stern.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen, cabrón.” 

The one who had Stan subdued pulled out his gun and placed it against his head while the other pointed his at Ford. The elder twin’s grip on his gun tightened, trying to will himself to stay calm.

“You should drop yours though if you value Stanley’s life. Otherwise...” the Columbian, the boss, glanced back.

The gun placed against his brother’s temple dug into his skin, causing Stan to wince in discomfort.

“We’re happy to redecorate these kitchen walls for you.” he smiled smugly.

“F-Ford, just get outta here-“

“He ain’t going no where.”

“Rico, please. He ain’t no part of this.”

“Well, now he is.”

Ford glanced down at his twin, seeing the flicker of terror flash in his eyes, though it wasn’t for his self. Stan was scared for his brother. 

“What’s it going to be, amigo?” Rico questioned, waiting for an answer.

He couldn’t put down his gun. If he did that, they’d just end up killing them both anyways. But if he didn’t, they’d kill Stan immediately. He tried to think of a way out, eyes searching his brother’s for an answer, to which was none.

Leveling his gaze back with Rico’s, Ford slowly lowered his gun, much to Stan’s dismay.

“Smart choice.” Rico smirked, stepping forward to take his gun.

“No...” Stan wheezed, becoming increasingly fearful.

Ford raised his hands, glaring down the mob boss who only chuckled in return.

“Now...” Rico purred, turning away from Ford before turning sharply back around and hitting him in the stomach with his ring-baring fist.

“FORD!” Stan cried out, straining against Rico’s crony until he heard the gun click in warning.

Doubling over with a short gasp of pain, Ford cradled his stomach with one are, trying to catch his breath. He didn’t get a chance to however when a foot connected harshly with his ribs, forcing him to fall on his side.

“Dammit Rico, STOP!” Stan begged, feeling the phantom pains of his brother’s injuries with each blow.

“What? We’re just getting started.” Rico chuckled, stooping down to grab Ford by the neck of his sweater. 

A groan passed Ford’s lips from being man handled, squinting at Rico, nostrils flaring. The Columbian grinned at him mischievously as a thought passed through his dark mind.

“I think I got a better idea. How about instead of chopping you up into tiny pieces, we do it to guapo over here? Seems it would be far more painful to you, Stan. What do you say boys?” Rico asked, looking back at his men.

“Sounds like a fair punishment to me, boss.” the Spaniard responded with malice, the other simply nodding in agreement.

“No, please. You can do whatever you want to me. Just leave my brother alone. Rico, I’m begging you.” Stan pleaded, eyes shining with tears he fought to hold back.

Rico laughed at the con artist’s pathetic plea for his brother’s life.

“Seems like this is a far better punishment. This’ll teach you to never steal from me again, Pines.” Rico said, pulling the knife back out and placing it under Ford’s chin. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

The knife traveled lightly across his throat, causing him to grit his teeth in anticipation. But the blade only dug deep enough to leave a beaded line of blood behind. It stopped at the other side of his neck before being lifted and placed along his cheek. Ford hissed at the sting of a cut being drawn down his face, glaring at Rico’s snide face the whole time.

The blade lifted again and was this time placed near the base of his ear.

“How about a little dismemberment?” Rico hissed, starting to dig the tip of the knife into his ear.

One of Rico’s men suddenly cried out in alarm as a gunshot sounded, starting him out of his actions. All eyes turned to see that Stan had cracked his head back into the offending’s nose, seeming to have broken it. He was now proceeding to try retching the gun from his grip.

“Dammit, Roscoe! Donavan, help h-“ Rico’s orders were cut off when Ford reared back and sucker punched him right in the kisser.

Ford jumped to his feet, took back his gun and kicked Rico’s knife far away. He then quickly turned to the two other offending occupants in the room upon feeling phantom pains shooting through his stomach with the already preexisting ones he’d acquired. Donavan had pulled Stan into a headlock while Roscoe wailed on him in retaliation for breaking his nose.

Taking aim, he shot Donavan in the knee, causing him to release his brother and collapse to the floor. Stan immediately brought his fists back up to guard himself from the next blow before returning his own with full force. Ford smiled when the other let out a threw a Thanks over his shoulder.

As he kept the one busy, Ford turned his attention to Donavan, who’d since gotten back up to his feet and was huffing in agitation. With a growl, he pulled out a knife and charged at the eldest twin. 

Unfortunately, his gun hadn’t finished recharging so when he tried to take a shot, nothing happened. Donavan swung his knife at Ford’s face, then stomach only to miss both times as he’d quickly dodged them. 

Donavan leapt forward, tackling the scientist to the ground with a painful thud. Raising the knife above his head, he drove it down towards Ford’s throat. Eyes blown wide in realization, the eldest twin caught his wrists before he could be stabbed.

Muscles flexed from both parties as they fought for control of the blade, growling and grunting from exertion. Ford planted his feet firmly on the ground, trying to gain some leverage, but Donavan just bore his weight down to inch the blade closer and closer. He knew there was no way he was getting out of this without being stabbed, but if he could just move a little to the left...

Donavan shoved the blade down, hoping it would go through his jugular. Luckily though, Ford moved far enough out of the way so that the knife went through his shoulder instead. He let out a cry of pain, gritting his teeth as he glared up at the other. Using the hand of his injured arm, he reached out and dug his thumb into the bullet hole in his left knee.

The other yelled at the unexpected pain, giving Ford the opening he needed to draw back his leg and kick Donavan off of him. With him a decent distance away, he picked his gun back up, set it to stun, and fired.

His aim was true and he hit his target, body falling unconscious. Rolling on his side, Ford groaned at the exploding pain in his shoulder where the blade was still lodged. He took a deep breath, holding it as he grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled it out.

Ford swore under his breath, cradling his shoulder, trying to ride out the pain. His teeth ground against each other as he lifted his gaze to where he’d last left Stan. At that same moment, his brother had delivered a knock out blow to the side of Roscoe’s head. 

“Asshole...” Stan huffed out.

Turning, Stan met his brother’s gaze to which he gave a sheepish smile. Ford went to return it, but suddenly, his head jerked to the side from a powerful force. His vision blurred as he collapsed on the floor, ears only picking up static and muffled voices.

Through the black fog in his brain, he heard a scuffle going on a few feet away from him. His heart immediately started racing at the thought of Stan being in danger, needing his help. He had to get up.

Ford forced himself onto his hands and knees, trying to rid his mind of the fuzziness. As the black spots started to fade from his vision, he felt a phantom pressure around his throat. It felt like hands.

He turned his head in the direction of the fight and could just barely make out Rico on top of Stan, with his hands wrapped around his throat. Ford could see his brother pushing weakly at the Columbian’s face and chest to get him away, but it wasn’t working. The longer it went on, the weaker Stan’s attempts to fight back were and the bluer this face became.

A fire lit within Ford’s chest, burning with a bright, red hot anger. All prior injuries and pains forgotten, he clambered to his feet and yanked Rico off of his brother. He threw him into the dining table, which collapsed under the unwelcome weight.

Rico coughed as the wind was knocked out of him, trying to roll over and get up. Ford was on him in seconds though, straddling his chest, pinning his arms to his sides with his legs. The other thrashed under him, anger clear in his features.

“¡Quítate de encima, idiota! ¡Te mataré!” Rico yelled, mouth foaming. “I’ll kill you both, gringo!”

“No.”

Ford balled up his fists, drawing his right back before plowing it into the mob boss’s cheek. Then, he drew back his left and hit him again. Again and again and again, repeating this action even as Rico’s face became bloody and indistinguishable. He just couldn’t stop.

His mind had blanked out as he was overtaken with pleasure of putting this man through pain. Like he’d just done to his brother. He’d tried to kill Stan. After Ford had just finally got him back. And he’ll try it again, he just knows it.

He couldn’t let him. He couldn’t let him hurt his brother again. He couldn’t lose him again. He-

“For the love of God, Ford! Just stop!” Stan’s words broke through the fog his mind and created.

But he couldn’t. If he let him live, he’d hurt his brother again. He didn’t deserve to live!

“Stanford!”

Two hands grasped at his, preventing him from swinging at Rico again. Ford’s body tensed up at the touch, turning to look at his brother.

Stan’s eyes were wide, full of pain and fear. But fear of what? H-he’d just taken down Rico. Why did he seem so terrif-

Ford’s eyes traveled to the fist clenched between his brother’s and saw it was covered in blood. Gulping, he turned his gaze down to what used to be Rico’s face. Now, his features were almost indiscernible from the sheer amount of damage and blood that encased it. One would believe he were dead if it weren’t for the short, raspy breaths that passed his lips.

“Ford, please...he’s had enough.” Stan pleaded, squeezing his hand with a sickening squelch.

His eyes fluttered back up to brother’s, searching them for a moment before standing shakily. Ford stepped over Rico’s unconscious body, attention now fully gaged on Stan. His eyes scoured over his form in search of injuries, hoping none were life threatening.

There was a graze over his cheek, presumably from that stray bullet that had fired earlier when he’d head butted Roscoe. A few cuts were visible over his black eye that was swollen half shut now. He knew he probably had some bruised ribs if the phantom throb in his uninjured side was any indication.

Most concerning though were the blotchy, hand shaped bruises that had rapidly formed around his throat. They were turning a dark purplish color by the minute, looking quite terrible. Ford winced, both in sympathy and due to his own aching injuries.

“You okay?” Stan rasped in a worried voice, eyes gazing at Ford’s injuries.

“I’ll live. You?” 

Stan nodded, eyes drifting from Rico’s disheveled form to his brother’s bloody hands. Sighing, he treaded over to the kitchen counter and picked up the phone, dialing 911. Once dispatcher announced that they’d sent out one of the squad cars and an ambulance to their residence, he hung up and snagged a hand towel.

“Blubbs and Durland’ll be here in a little bit to haul them off.” Stan informed, taking his brother’s hands.

“Hope they take this seriously.” Ford quipped, allowing Stan to clean the blood from his hands.

“They’re idiots, but I think they’ll actually do their job. For once.” Stan mumbled, causing Ford to chuckle.

It took a good minute to wipe most of the blood away, but there was still some that had dried that would need to be washed off. The rag once a bright white, was now a deep red. 

Stan placed a hand by the stab wound in his brother’s shoulder, pulling the sweater back enough to get a good look at it. Both hissed. It was pretty deep, though nothing major seemed to have been severed. 

He pulled back the helm of his brother’s sweater and situated the bloody hand towel against the wound, applying pressure with one hand to help stop the bleeding.

“Thanks, Stan.” Ford sighed, feeling his body drain of it’s adrenaline.

“...Ford.” Stan said, apprehensive. “About that thing with Rico-“

“Please...not right now.” Ford pleaded, throat tightening. “I c-can’t...”

“Okay, okay. We don't gotta talk about it right now.” Stan reassured.

“It’s just...h-he-“

“Hey.” Stan interrupted, cupping Ford’s cut cheek gently with his right hand. “We don’t.”

Ford gazing into the younger’s eyes for a moment. He really wanted to explain himself, what he’d felt, why he’d done it. But he couldn’t. Not now anyways. A sigh escaped his lips as his eyes slipped shut tiredly, giving a slow nod in understanding.

“Okay?...okay.” Stan said.

Ford rested his hands over his twin’s as the other rested their foreheads together. They looped into a comfortable silence, his and Stan’s raspy breathing the only noise filling the void between them for a long while before sirens sounded in the distance.

///

Blubbs and Durland took the three men into custody and assured that they wouldn’t be getting out again with the long rap sheet they had. They took the twins’ statements while paramedics looked them over and tended to their injuries. Ford had to have seven stitches in his shoulder and Stan had to have his throat examined for tracheal damage from strangulation. Luckily, none were were bad enough for them to be hospitalized.

It was three days later when they left for their boat trip. It took a two hour drive before arriving at the port the Stan O War ll was docked at. 

“Ah, there it is.” Stan announced, stepping out of his car to marvel at the boat. “Ain’t she a beaut?”

“Indeed. Far sturdier built than the original, for sure.” Ford agreed as he slung one of their bags over his shoulder.

Stan collected boxes from the backseat and one of his clothes bags, following his brother onto the deck. The boat tilted a bit with their weight, causing the youngest to nearly lose his balance. Ford quickly shot out an arm to help stabilize him, dropping one of his bags in the process.

“Careful, Lee.” Ford chuckled.

“I forgot how much boats sway.” Stan grumbled, steadying himself with Ford’s help.

“Well, what do you expect from something that rests in choppy waters?” Ford asked with a sly smirk.

“Shut it.”

The two made their way into the cabin space, eyes sweeping over the inside, feeling captivated by their new living space. The connected living room and kitchenette were actually quite decently sized. It had all the normal kitchen appliances and a table booth seated next to a port window while the living room had a small couch, coffee table, and tv stand that all appeared to be bolted to the floor.

Setting down their baggage, Stan and Ford ventured through the narrow hall that connected to the other rooms on the small boat. The bathroom wasn’t the real big, but it wasn’t cramped. At least the toilet and bathtub were spaced well enough away from each other.

Moving on, they entered the last room. The bedroom. It was small. It held just enough room for closet, desk, and one bed frame. To be fair, the guy they’d bought the boat from had warned them ahead of time it was only big enough for one bed. Still, the quarters were quite close.

“Eh, I’ve slept in smaller motel rooms by myself.” Stan shrugged. “But just so you know, you won’t be keeping me awake with your late night research and documenting. I’ll throw you overboard.”

“Fair enough.” Ford placated.

“Well, we better get everything in before dark. Need to get the mattress off the roof first.” Stan grumbled, already feeling pain in his back at the thought.

They set to work, carrying the mattress in and placing it on top of the frame before bringing the rest of their belongings in and locking the doors to the Stanley Mobile. Soos would be by to pick it up in the morning sometime after they sailed off.

It was ten at night when they’d finished unpacking and stowing everything away in there designated places. By then, they were both exhausted and ready to call it a day.

Fixing up their shared bed, they collapsed onto it without bothering to change clothes or take of their glasses, giving twin groans of relief. Stan’s eyes slipped shut, relaxing into the mattress as the wave brought on a lull of sleep. Ford’s eyes had closed as well, but he couldn’t doze off.

His mind had been nagging at him ever since the incident with Rico. How he’d beat the mob boss into a literal bloody pulp. How he’d felt genuine satisfaction at the sickening squelches and cracks under his fists. How Stan had stared at him in pure horror at his animalistic behavior.

He’d allowed himself to lose control, nearly killing someone. Not to say the guy didn’t deserved it, but Ford was frightened by how he’d reacted. He had tried to get a hold on himself since returning to his home dimension, but how do you keep just a lid on instincts you’ve had drilled into you for the past thirty years? Those primal instincts that you’ve had to live by in order to survive?

Ford felt so frustrated. He so desperately wanted to go back to his normal self, not feeling constantly on edge and not acting like some...some wild animal.

His fingers clawed into the sheets beneath him as his face scrunched up, trying to control his rising emotions. He would feel better if he spoke to someone about his inner turmoil, at least put his mind at ease. And he really needed to explain himself to Stan. After that exhibit, he probably thought Ford was an unhinged psycho, ready to explode at any time.

He needed to explain. Get him to understand...Now or never.

Stan felt the bed shift as his brother twisted around. He figured Ford was just trying to find a more comfortable position to sleep in so he didn’t really pay it much mind. Until he felt like he was being watched.

Cracking his right eye open, he peered in the direction of his twin to find Ford staring back at him. 

“It ain’t polite to stare, nerd.” Stan quipped, causing Ford to fluster at being caught.

“S-sorry. I-...Stan, I need to talk to you about something.” Ford said.

“Can’t it wait til morning? I didn’t get a good night’s rest last night.” Stan groaned, not wanting to discuss whatever nerd crap his brother had on his mind.

“It can’t. If we don’t talk now, I’m afraid...I’ll lose my nerve.” 

Stan frowned at that. Whatever his brother had to say must be important. So, he propped himself up on his elbow, turning towards Ford to give him his full attention.

“What’s up?” 

Ford glanced away nervously before answering, “The other day. What happened with...Rico.”

“...Are you sure you wanna...unpack that right now?” Stan asked, analyzing the anxious look in his brother’s eyes. 

“I-I have to explain myself.” Ford stuttered.

“Don’t do this because you feel like you have to. You don’t gotta explain yourself to me, Ford.”

“I’m not doing this because I feel I have to. I’m doing it because I NEED to. It’s been bothering me the past few days.” 

Ford rubbed his arm nervously, half expecting Stan to tell him he didn’t wanna hear it.

“Alright.” Stan nodded.

A bit of relief wash over Ford when his brother agreed to listen. Closing his eyes, he took in a shaky breath and sat up.

“Um, during my years bouncing between dimensions, I faced many dangers. From creatures attacking me to bounty hunters hired to bring me to Bill, I always had to keep my guard up. I couldn’t afford not to.” Ford explained, gulping a bit. 

Stan nodded along, at one point placing a comforting hand over his brother’s shoulder for support to keep him going.

“So many people were after me, Stanley. So many wanted me dead. I had a target on my back the moment I fell through the portal, made worse when I started stealing parts from my quantum destabilizer.”

“...One day while I was trying to steal one of the many parts I needed, a bounty hunter had found me. He made chase and I ran for my life. Unfortunately, I ended up running into a dead end and got cornered.”

“I just felt so terrified. I knew that if I was captured, there was no way I’d be able to get away before...I-I was trying to think of another way out, but he was getting closer and closer and I just...I lost control.”

“What do you mean?” Stan asked patiently, squeezing Ford’s shoulder.

“Everything around me just blacked out. One minute I was pressed against the wall, the next I had k-k...I killed him.”

Tears welled in his eyes as the memory weighed his mind, the image of a bloodied and broken body lying beneath him. The hunter’s eyes lifeless, body limp, a hole in his neck.

“Ford, it’s alright. You did what y-“

“No, it’s not alright! You don’t get it! You didn’t see what I did! I literally ripped out his throat with my teeth!” Ford exclaimed, retching him shoulder from Stan’s grip. 

Stan stared at his brother in utter shock, both from him moving away so abruptly and his confession.

“Before I even knew what I was doing, I ju-ust attacked. I sunk my teeth into his neck and...by the time I had come back to my senses, it was too late.”

Ford had drawn his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his hands, causing his glasses to slide up. He couldn’t bring himself to look into Stan’s eyes, fearing what he might see after telling him what he’d done.

“His eyes. They were just...so full of terror...I was so horrified with myself, with what I had done. What I’d become.”

“Oh, Ford...”

“When Rico was on top of you, and I saw a-and felt hims ch-choking the life out of you...I went into that-that feral state again. I was just s-so terrified of losing you again, after finally getting you back, having a chance to fix things...I couldn’t I couldn’tIcouldn’tnotagainIcan’tloseyouStanley!”

“Ford! Sixer, breathe!” 

He’d stopped breathing? When had he stopped breathing? Ford took in a shuddering breath, tears cascading freely down his face now. Stan leaned forward to grip his shoulders.

“Come on. You almost got it. Just take a deep breath in.” Stan instructed.

“I c-n’t...my th-throa, lun-s...” Ford gasped, clawing at his throat as his airways constricted painfully.

“You can.” Stan reassured, pulling Ford’s hands from his throat and holding them in his. “Just follow me.”

Stan took a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, repeating the action over and over. Ford clenched his eyes shut as he forced himself to follow along. It was a shaky start at first, his lungs hurt every time he tried to strangle in a controlled breath. After a while though, it became gradually easier to follow the mantra. In through his nose, out through his mouth.

It was a good ten minutes before he got his breathing under control, no longer feeling like he was being strangled. Though, he could still feel tears slipping from from his eyes and dripping off his chin. 

“Feel any better?” Stan asked, eyes full of concern.

Ford nodded silently, feeling drained from his panic attack. He was so tired and felt like passing out, but he still had something to get off his chest. He looked into Stan’s eyes.

“I-I’m sorry I sc-scared you.” Ford apologized.

“Huh?” Stan asked, confusion crossing his features.

“When I attacked Rico a-and nearly k-killed him...you had this look of ter-rror in your eyes. Terror towards me. I-I didn’t mean to scare you li-ike that...I never wanted to scare you.” Ford looked away in utter shame, unable to hold eye contact.

There was a beat of silence, only the sound of waves lapping at the side of the boat. Then, Stan’s hands slipped out from his and came up to cradle Ford’s face in his palms.

“I wasn’t scared of you, Ford.” Stan said, drawing Ford’s eyes back to his.

“You...what?” Ford asked, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy.

“I wasn’t scared of you. You nearly killing Rico wasn’t what terrified me. Believe me, he woulda deserved it.” Stan chuckled darkly. “I was scared because if you killed him, there’d be no going back. ‘Cause taking a life, it breaks something inside you...and you’re never the same after.”

Ford watched on in stunned silence as Stan’s throat bobbed anxiously. He acted as if he...knew from experience.

“I just wanted to keep you from having to experience that, but...looks like I was too late to save you from that.” Stan sighed, looking downcast.

“Stan...” Ford choked, resting his hands over his twin’s wrists. “It’s not your fault. We’ve been over this. I don’t blame you for any of it, and certainly not this.”

Stan sighed again as he rested his forehead against the eldest’s, mindlessly using his thumbs to wipe away tears from Ford’s cheeks.

“I would argue with you, but I’m beat.” Stan grumbled.

“Haha. Yeah.” Ford chuckled quietly, rubbing one of Stan’s arms. “So, you really aren’t scared of me?”

“No. You were just protecting me. How could I ever be scared of you for that?” Stan smiled, eyes going soft.

Ford sighed in relief, feeling the weight within his chest completely lift, leaving him feeling at ease. All his worries of what his brother would think of him was over nothing. Stan loves him, no matter what he does. 

Stan pulled back enough to press a kiss to his twin’s forehead before lying down. Ford followed suit, resting his head against the youngest’s shoulder and a hand over his pectoral. They settled into a lull full silence, starting to drift off. Though, just before they drifted into oblivion, Stan let out a low whisper.

“G’night, Sixer. Love you.”

“I love you too, Lee. Goodnight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading. I might be writing more fics later. I got a few ideas, but nothing’s concrete yet.


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